


Cool Rain and Coffee Steam

by SouthernKittyGal



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Attempted Assault, Fluff, I don't like Freddy, M/M, Mild Blood, Slow Burn, Trigger warnings in chapters, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernKittyGal/pseuds/SouthernKittyGal
Summary: The Fog never came, but lives still intertwine with one another.I wanted to write something with very warm coffee shop and comfy pillowfort vibes but that plays into Dead by Daylight ships while keeping everyone as in-character as I can. I don't have a direction yet, but that doesn't mean there's not potential for this to be something worth reading.
Relationships: Herman Carter | The Doctor/Quentin Smith
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	1. Cafe Chatter

He came every single day, ordering the same black coffee with an apple cinnamon muffin.

Occasionally they’d meet eyes and then the kid would squirm a little in his chair to immerse himself further into his textbook. The teen wasn’t necessarily attractive. He consistently had dark bags under his eyes and even with his beanie covering majority of his head, one could still tell his hair was greasy and unwashed. His skin was an olive-pale, like this poor kid hadn’t seen the sun in days. If he was any paler, Dr.Carter would’ve suspected a fantastical case of vampirism.

But the Doctor knew better, glancing above the pages of his book to watch the kid slowly slump in his chair, as he so often did, and his eyes glaze over, staring miles through reality. Or sometimes he would completely sink over into his book and his eyelids would droop as he was carried into sleep.

Really, what was this fool doing that he slept through every cup of coffee everyday.

Still though, Carter sometimes wondered about what it would be like to have this teen in his dear care, laid out on his examination table and strapped down like so many before him. It’d be so easy. Just slip on the the little metal helmet and start to play through his mind, watch his squirming and grunts build into screams…

The doctor set his book on the table and turned his face away from the sleeping man to rub at the bridge of his nose, other hand fisted on top of the table. No, he wasn’t… He wasn’t doing that anymore. He was out of those days. He was moving forward. He was moving past this. It was one thing when this was condoned within his career, encouraged by his higher-ups as a means of serving his country. He had gone too far and everyone had looked the other way so long as he was getting the information required, doing his job and doing it well. But… Jobs are rarely forever. His department had been shut down and replaced with different practices, so he was dutifully let go. It was time to move on. He had been well compensated for his work, and could now go to do as he so pleased.

Only to a certain degree, though, he had come to relearn. It was… bitterly difficult to be given so much ugly freedom and then later be turned loose without it.

Carter took a deep inhale and let it out through his nose, picking up his book to try and distract himself from the nearby man and the dark _itch_ deep in his being. The itch was… something that was difficult to explain. Not that it’s something he’d care to share with anyone, but it was something that often had Carter a bit perplexed at how it behaved. The itch was both sentient and not, both dominant and submissive, both meek and great… It was something he could never satisfy, very small, but it was ever-present and intense in its cravings. He knew it was related to the dark thoughts that plagued him from his previous career, yet he also couldn’t pin it down what with how to make it truly and completely disappear. Ignoring it only seemed to make it all the more stronger over time, as itches were often like.

Carter reread the paragraph in front of him a third time, brows furrowing. He muttered each word aloud and licked a finger to turn the page without really absorbing what he had just read multiple times. He twitched when the alarm started to go off from the insomniac’s table. Carter narrowed his eyes at his book to try and force himself into focusing, but the alarm was loud and cutting.

A waitress came over and leaned forward against the counter towards the still sleeping man, “Quentin!”

Tch. Of course, if the alarm right beside him didn’t wake him up, why would yelling? With a sigh, Carter closed his book and leaned over with a creak of his chair. He slammed the flat of his book against his table, watching the other jump awake in a panic, eyes searching before landing on the Doctor in confusion.

“Your phone?” He droned, voice lilting with his irritation.

“O-Oh… Sorry.”

The Doctor leaned back into his chair as the kid - Quentin, apparently - turned off his phone alarm. “Finally.”

Quentin cast him a glance at the mutter and then shifted to sit up, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. “Sorry about that. Thanks for waking me.”

Carter gave a shrug, cool eyes fixed to the book he’d really given up trying to absorb the content of, “Maybe don’t fall asleep in public in the first place.”

Quentin twitched and frowned, “How about you mind your own business. I see you staring at me all the time. It’s freaky. Maybe get off my case.”

Carter glanced up at him and oho, the defiance in those dark hazel eyes gave a little buzz along his spine, gave a little fire to the already formed embers of the _itch_. He bit his lip, eyeing the teen for a moment before nodding. He looked away with a small smile playing on his lips. Maybe… He did just get hired someplace new. He couldn’t do all the things his mind tried to fantasize, however maybe he could try and find a way to at least calm the itching desire in him. He set the book down, getting his wallet out and got out a business card, leaning over towards Quentin, “Hey. If you ever want some help with that insomnia of yours, feel free to swing by my office anytime.”

Quentin took the card slowly, reading it and frowned, “No, thanks. I’ve tried therapy and it’s not for me.” He held the card out but Carter gently pushed his hand back towards him.

“Keep it. I specialize in many forms of therapy, maybe I could find something uniquely suited to you. Just think on it. Can’t hurt,” Carter cracked a grin at the choice of words mixed with the idea of his old _therapy_ practices. The way Quentin shifted and almost fidgeted made him fight not to smile wider. His discomfort was somehow pleasing.

Quentin settled into his chair with a very quiet okay, avoiding looking at the doctor now. Carter’s grin dulled into a content smile, sipping his tea and settling back into his book. He lost track of time, licking his index finger occasionally to flip a page, the soft chatter and work of the cafe baristas fading into the background. Just loud enough to be a pleasant white noise and just quiet enough to not be distracting. He reread a sentence a few times, trying to process the depth of what it meant, and it was enough to bring him out of his reverie. He checked his watch and then sighed, closing his book and standing. He slipped on his coat and shoulder bag before heading out for work.

A young Asian-American teen finished typing out the email and sent it forward to his parents from the public computers available, pausing when a tall barista set a cookie down beside him. He looked up and oh… If the man wasn’t wearing a green apron and white shirt with rolled up sleeve, Jake would almost be afraid of him from his large stature. “Ahm, I didn’t.. order anything.”

Their dark brown eyes stared at him and their weight shifted slowly before they silently left back to work behind the counter once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm contemplating each chapter going back and forth between a different couple. What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments!


	2. Ancient Wood and Old Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long-acquainted with demons taunt Quentin and make outreach for help difficult.  
> WARNING: This chapter contains material that could be sensitive and triggering to some viewers (mild blood in the beginning, attempted sexual assault in the very last scene after the dash).

Quentin had vastly improved on controlling his dreams since the attacks two years ago. His assailant still came, and he still had to fight him off occasionally, but he wasn’t quite as helpless and frantic as he’d been when he was seventeen.

So much had happened that year… So many lives had been lost. Him and Nancy had come out of it… not quite okay. They still carried the trauma; recognizing the abuse they’d faced as children, the new paranoia of falling asleep, the trust issues and suspicion with others. It was a lot to carry. But they were alive, at least, and they had the opportunity to grow unlike those before them.

Nancy had gone on to become a teacher, hoping to provide a better childhood for kids than what she had had and provide a safe and supportive environment for everyone who came to her. She still had nightmares, but her nightmares were only heavily based off her past experiences. They provided no true threat, but the struggle was still present.

Quentin had dropped out of college, left torn on what direction to take his life. However, for the time being, he’d contented himself with a job as a librarian. Was it great money? Not exactly. But he was allowed to read when there was nothing to be done, and he found plenty of good books through the job, so it wasn’t all bad. He plucked a book off the shelf, admiring the maroon and gold spine before moving it.

He never really got much free time on the job - it was few and in between - but he’d come to find he didn’t mind. The only issue he’d started to run into was how quiet and calm the atmosphere was. It started to play a part with his insomnia.

_Shink, shink, shink, shink~!_

The sound made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, tensing slightly. He knew that sound all too well, and it was never welcome. It was followed by a voice associated to the monster himself.

“Still playing with books, huh, little Quentin? I remember teaching you… And you took to it like you were born for it…” Quentin didn’t look at Freddy as he slowly flexed his blade fingers, scraping them together in a slow pulsating pattern. From where he leaned against the books, Freddy wasn’t looking at him either, instead watching the ceiling with an almost thoughtful look but his eyes had a dark glint to them and his smiling thin lips had a gut-turning smirk to their edges. 

“I never asked for you to teach me.” Ignoring him was worse than giving him attention, he’d learned after a particularly difficult night some time back. “I never asked for you.”

“You didn’t fight it either, though. The reading, of course.” Freddy gave him a sly smile, tilting his head Quentin’s way, “You seemed to enjoy it.”

Quentin’s very being writhed inside. He kept reorganizing books before realizing it wouldn’t make much difference from within a dream. “You’re interrupting me while I’m working.”

“Hm,” Was all Freddy responded. _Shink, shink, shink, shink~!_ “I’m bored. I want to play.” All of the books started to fall off of the shelves, one by one, down the row, and onto the floor, which had gotten an inch or two of murky black water covering the surface.

Quentin felt his hands shake but closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself. This wasn’t just a dream, but this [i]was[/i] his dream. He tried to focus, but it was ripped out of it when he felt sharp, cold metal cut into his sides, dragging upward and lifting his shirt with the movement. He let out a startled cry, smacking the hand away and jolting back. Freddy’s smirk dropped, eyes going darker and he rushed forward, knives up, and hit a shelf. His blades stuck into the wood as Quentin ducked out from under Freddy to behind him.

The Nightmare eyed how the once straight bookcase now curved into an L shape. He glanced back at the kid with a scowl, “One or two tricks won’t stop me. I’ll always be here. I’ll always be waiting for you, boy.”

Quentin’s head snapped up from where it had fallen to rest on his chest, leaning heavily against one of the vintage bookcases. He rubbed at his side, hand pulling away with blood. It wasn’t heavy, but the thin cuts were definitely starting to bleed, and his torn shirt didn’t do well to hide it.

He cursed, pressing his hand to his side firmly with a wince. Another set of cuts he’d have to hope wouldn’t scar. He chewed on his lip, looking around. No one was looking his way. How would he get back to the counter hiding this? Furthermore, how would he hide this from his coworkers the rest of the day? He pressed his hand to his side firmer, feeling the warm wetness underneath and starting to slowly slide down his side.

“Are you okay?”

He looked up at the tall African-American man coming around the corner, and he’d really never noticed quite how large he was in the cafe but now… My…

Quentin hesitated, not having a way to hide his issue yet. “I’m fine. Just, reopened an old wound. Nothing bad.” Explaining how he’d gotten a wound in the past would be easier than trying to explain how he’d sliced his side open in a library. “Are you stalking me or something?”

“Are you really so full of yourself that people only come to the library to stalk you?” The other quipped back before lifting and lightly waving the book he was holding, “I’m researching.” His eyes were glued to Quentin’s side, “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m… Yeah. Yeah, I am. Like I said, I just, reopened a wound. Uh. I’ll be fine, I just gotta go to the office first aid.”

“Can… I see? I’m a doctor, after all.”

Quentin bit his lip and nodded slowly, moving his hands as the Doctor moved over, kneeling beside Quentin and lifting his shirt just to look over the wound. “Can you remind me of your name once more?”

Was it normal for his heart to beat this fast? Was he hyperaware or on edge? “Quentin. And you?”

“Doctor Herman Carter.” Quentin nodded, wincing and hissed as Carter touched his side. He glanced down at him, surprised at their gentleness and how they burned into his skin. He didn’t know people could feel so freakishly warm. “The cuts aren’t very deep at all, but, incredibly thin. How did you wound yourself again?”

“Ah, I… fell.”

He knew it was a super basic _I don’t want to tell you_ response, and from the flat look he received, Carter knew he was talking bullshit. But he only gave a small roll of his eyes and stood, “Definitely get it fixed up. It’s bleeding… a lot, really.” The doctor wiped his reddened hands on the inside of his trench coat. He looked up, and Quentin paused at how the light reflected off golden flecks, reminding him vaguely of a cat. “You still haven’t been sleeping.” Carter rose to his feet with a low sigh, “Have you considered letting me help you?” Quentin fell quiet. It… had come to mind once or twice, but he hadn’t thought on it very heavily. He frowned, glancing away from the doctor who knit his brow. “What’s holding you back?”

“It- It’s really none of your business,” Quentin’s voice came out as a low mutter, getting out some hand sanitizer and a few napkins from his pockets, cleaning his hands thoroughly before refocusing on reorganizing the books around him.

“It can be my business. I’m a doctor, Quentin. I can help you.” Quentin removed some books from the shelves, walking down the aisle to the other side and the doctor let him go, going through the books to find what he’d originally been searching out. He plucked out a book, bringing it into his arms. 

Quentin added a few misplaced books to a nearby cart for later. If he tried to explain what was going on with Freddy, there’s no way the doctor would believe him. He’d tried therapists and doctors before. The only diagnoses that came up from things that didn’t exist, things that only appeared in dreams, weren’t anything that could explain how his dream specter’s harm carried over into the real world, the world of the living. He was tired of being treated like someone who was crazy, who just needed fixing, whose issues weren’t valid because they didn’t make sense, couldn’t be explained with science. He was over it. He was done with it. There was no doctor or therapist, no person of science, he could go to for help who’d accept supernatural phenomena as an answer. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers rubbing roughly into his own scalp and his shoulders feeling heavy and tight.

He didn’t want to, not at all. However, even if he did want to - even if he was willing to consider the option - he didn’t have the money or insurance to cover it. He took a deep breath to try and relax himself, focus on his job so he could just, go home and down some coffee.

The doctor let him be, no longer hunting him down. Maybe he could tell Quentin was done with the conversation, or maybe he just figured he’d never be able to convince him. Either way, Quentin was more than happy to be left to his own devices. His side still ached, however it no longer was bleeding, thankfully. He could tell it’d be aching for a while.

The lighting of the library was nice and dim, helping to soothe the anxiety that had swelled up inside his chest. He finished up his task, taking the leftover books to the back room. He started going through the returns, checking them in and adding them to the cart.

\- 

The Doctor's office was pristine. The walls were sterile white and the fluorescent lights seemed to shine off them, making Quentin's already tired eyes ache. He rubbed at them, arms feeling heavy. Everything was wearing on him heavier and heavier. Yesterday felt like years ago, and he could barely remember his trip from work to Dr. Carter’s clinic. He wanted nothing more than to lay his body back on the cushioned examination table, fall into a deep sleep.

He ended up instead curling over with his head in his hands. The position made his back ache but it allowed him to rest without risking full on sleep. Something felt off, and it took several minutes and a large yawn to realize his head was beginning to ache. It surprised him how much strength it took to lift his head from his hands and look towards the door, brows knit low and eyes hooded.

Seriously, the doctor wouldn’t come on time the one time he actually wanted to see him?

He let out a noncommittal sound, for no reason other than it felt right to let out. He rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and then opened them to look around the gray room once more. The lights were so blinding. Why did they have to be so bright. 

He gave a deep, heavy breath, leaning sideways and twitching when his shoulder rested against warmth. He looked up and a charred, pinkened face looked down at him with deep amusement. “Well, well, well… Isn’t someone sleepy?”

The arm sliding down around his hip was enough to startle Quentin away from Freddy. “Leave me alone… I’m going to get rid of you, I swear…”

“No doctor can help with that, though,” Freddy scoffed, “Really, I’d think you’d know better by now boy…” He pushed him to lay back onto the examination table and Quentin’s heartrate jumped. “So weak… It’s almost disappointing to come to you already drained,” he chuckled lowly, dragging the claws of his hand down Quentin’s chest and stomach, “I can make you so much more tired though…”

Quentin jerked, shoving hard at Freddy’s chest with all of his strength. Freddy sat up and back, straddling the younger’s hips, “I will say, you’re starting to get a bit old for my tastes.” He let out a laugh at the twisted expression of disgust he received. “C’mon… I know you love a good dicking…”

He hooked his knives into Quentin’s jeans and ripped them downward, tearing the fabric open. Quentin gasped and kicked up at him. Freddy’s pained sound echoed Quentin’s own as his head shot up from the kitchen table.

He breathed heavy and fast now, winding his trembling hands into his hair, breathing, “I’m awake… I’m awake… I’m awake….” He pat at each of his cheeks, taking deep breaths. That was so close.

That was too close.

He hugged himself, trying to quell the traces of terror from within himself. That was too close. He needed help. He couldn’t keep doing this. That was too close. Way too close. He rubbed at his face. He needed help. But who could he go to. Medicine only could do so much against a nightmare ghost, and doctors, men of science, would only allow themselves to believe the explained.

Even knowing there was little hope in it, there was little potential in it… He needed help. He… He was strong but he was starting to reach a breaking point - and Freddy could tell. He felt the hot swell of tears in his eyes but took a deep breath and hung his head back off his kitchen chair with deep breaths to calm himself. As he calmed he caught himself starting to drift off a few times, the world weighing down his body and he lifted his head up with what he could muster. He moved his hands from his lap to his jeans until his fingertips caught on the firm paper of a card. He got his phone from the table and dialed the number into it.

“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some trouble writing this chapter out for a while so I'm going ahead and posting it as a means to try and help myself with writing what's next on my mind. I was just about to post this and then I got an idea for one last bit to add as a means of plot/development. Otherwise the chapter was going to be pretty mellow. So I'm pretty content with how it's turned out now. ^~^
> 
> Also, since I've been having a bit of trouble with writing lately and now that I'm a bit lower on time than I was when I started this story, I've decided to keep this story as a Quentin/Doctor fic, however I may start a separate story with a similar premise that's a Jayers fic if I get motivated enough.  
> Feel free to comment your thoughts below! Thank you for reading and I hope you all have a wonderful week!


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